Sunday, June 22, 2008

A central Oregon bouquet

I went on my last bike ride for awhile yesterday, cruising easily along the bucolic Metolius River where the old summer cabins along the bank are occupied with seasonal guests. The campgrounds are full and the wonderful scent of wood fires float across the road. I'm in no hurry as I want to savor this day and contemplate what lies ahead with my knee surgeries. It's strange to be at peace with the constant dull pain that now does not subside even when I'm on the bike like it used to. Change is coming. I carried my Canon point-and shoot camera in the hope of making a couple of pictures. On the gradual ascent out of the Camp Sherman basin the wildflowers became increasingly abundant and colorful. Central Oregon is in the midst of a wildflower bloom that has not been seen in many years. The long winter and schizophrenic spring have given back in a fantastic spread of Lupine, Indian Paintbrush, Monkeyflower, sunflowers and a myriad of other tiny species. As I was nearing the top of the final hill before the last five miles from home I spotted a large spread of lupine in an area where a controlled burn happened a couple of years ago. I went back this morning with Diane to photograph the scene. It occurred to me that I was walking through gift of flowers before the surgery. I prefer that to a bouquet in a hospital room. By the time I'm mobile again the bloom will be gone. In time I will be able to hike into the wilderness to see more of the beauty of this area. For now, the wildflower field will sustain me.

There is one big downside to this surgery event: I will have little to photograph or write about. I cannot imagine that anyone really cares to hear very much about molybdenum/plastic knees, physical therapy and rehabilitation or the countless number of sports programs and old movies I'll watch. Actually, I am looking forward to watching the Tour de France, Wimbeldon and the Olympics. That's a fair line-up of acceptable television options. I'll also entertain weird and off-beat suggestions from those who just can't pass up the opportunity to poke fun at a stationary target.

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Finding a sense of place

Carlos Castenada wrote that to know a place was to understand the space between the leaves of trees. Our cat is unimpressed by this notion and has no trouble in finding peace wherever the sun hits her. I have a bit more of a challenge, albeit a pleasurable one, of finding my sense of purpose in central Oregon where the light plays out through the Juniper and Ponderosa forests. Everyday is different and always holds a surprise or two. My friend, Dick Schmidt, who is also retired from the Sacramento Bee, provided me with the truest way to describe retirement. "You wake up in the morning not knowing what to do with your day and you go to bed at night with only have half of it done."